


A Blue Foiled Sweet

by LuxEvergreen



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, F/M, Halloween, Nightmares, One Shot, trick or treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-08-27 07:51:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8393323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuxEvergreen/pseuds/LuxEvergreen
Summary: I love Halloween and, dammit; I love Game of Thrones too.In the spirit of Halloween, I wrote a short story that I'veconsidered as a possible ending for our favorite couple,Jaime and Brienne. 
I hope you guys out there have fun, safe and happy Halloween!My love to you.  -Lux





	

**Author's Note:**

> “We are all a great deal luckier that we realize,  
> we usually get what we want - or near enough.” 
> 
>    
> ― Roald Dahl, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory

 

Jaime looked down at his son and smiled. Lying on top of the bed with his back against the headboard, the happy father cradled his newborn snug tight in his arms. He was choked up and in tears; Jaime's soft voice began to murmur with paternal pride.

“He has your eyes.”

Brienne wanted to laugh, but she didn't; she barely had the strength to speak, much less sit up. “You’ve said that for every child we’ve ever—" Her voice was a drawling whisper that wanted to fade. Jaime turned his head to smile.

“ _I know_... but I've made a decision: he’s going to have your eyes.” Brienne’s forehead puckered in doubt while she chewed on her lower lip. She was buried deep under a pile of blankets; she tried not to whimper as she inched closer to Jaime. She let out a deep hiss of pain and swallowed a hard grunt. Tired and pale, she dropped her head off to the side and buried her head in the crook of Jaime’s shoulder. Together, they looked down at their son in exhausted peace. Jaime was transfixed by his son’s little face while Brienne started to doze; how he loved to watch the babe as he snuffled into a lull.

The mother stirred; her face beamed with pride as she sniffed back tears. She glanced at Jaime with a lovely sigh. “You're absurd—all of our children have grown up to have _your_ eyes.” _Not this one_ , Jaime thought.

Failing to get a response out of him, Brienne batted her pale lashes and smiled. Her husband was happy, far too happy to listen to reason. In their ten years of marriage, Jaime no longer cared if they had a boy or a girl—all he wanted now was their son to have Brienne's eyes.  

Green eyes—wide and wondrous—turned from their son and glanced at his wife. “No, My Lady; _I’m certain_. His eyes are _blue_ , and they’re going to _stay_ _blue_.”

Brienne eyes—glassy and striking—locked onto his with a wan smile. She realized that it was hopeless to argue with him. Instead, she gave up the fight and nuzzled her face deeper into Jaime’s neck. She planted a lazy kiss on his shoulder. “And to think: you've always called _me_ stubborn.” Brienne closed her eyes and smiled. She seemed content, but she was feeling weary and drained.

A long time passed. As Jaime's tears began to dry on his cheeks, he started to hum a lullaby for their baby boy. Brienne tried to glance up at him from the corner of her eyes. Realizing that Jaime had been crying, she reached out a curled finger to dry the fresh tracks off his face. She tried to reach over and graze their son’s hand with a mother’s touch, but she failed—It was slowly getting harder for her to move.

Bone tired, Brienne dropped her temple on Jaime’s shoulder and gave up; her heavy hand rolled back down into her lap. She seemed to be having a hard time keeping her eyes open. Drifting in and out of consciousness, she let out a soft chuckle once she heard Jaime try to think of names for their son. Brienne fell back asleep whenever Jaime hummed a new song.

“What’s High Valyrian for the color _blue?”_ Brienne lifted heavy eyelids with a lopsided smile.

“ _Kasta_ …” Jaime repeated the Valyrian word with a mild look of disappointment. He didn't like the sound of that name. Brienne offered up another translation.

“In Dothraki, the word for blue is _thelis_ **.”** Jaime perked up by the sound of that. With a rough voice, he tried to practice saying _thelis_ in a horrid Dothraki accent. He modified the word with different tones to practice saying it as a name. Brienne wanted to laugh; instead, she fought back a groan of pain. Settling her head deeper into Jaime’s neck, Brienne snuggled close and breathed in his scent. She mumbled in a slurred voice. “You’re deluded.”

The father didn't respond; instead, he hummed another lullaby. Jaime kissed his son's head when he finished the cradle song. He couldn’t stop smiling. “Perhaps… perhaps I am, but right now I'm too happy to care.”

A dark shadow crossed the room. “My lord.”  

A moment passed. Jaime was annoyed; he knew that _he_ would come in eventually and spoil their moment. He didn’t want this moment to end. _It can't end. It just can't._ He took a great comfort in holding his son with his stubborn wife at his side. Eventually, Brienne made a drowsy noise and nudged Jaime's elbow. “ _Jaime…_ ”

Jaime’s eyes drifted towards Brienne. She made a droopy nod at a man standing at the foot of their bed.  The old man waited patiently to be acknowledged. Brienne’s eyes met with the newly appointed maester of Evenfall. Jaime’s face started to darken. Sulky and petulant, his gaze drifted down towards his wife with a numb look of denial.

“ _My lord?_ ”

Jaime bristled. _He’d felt angry_ —he didn't want to feel anger as he held his son.  Pretending not to see the old goat, Jaime looked down at his boy and smiled. He wanted to memorize every line, every feature of his son’s face. His heart began to swell as his baby boy wrinkled up his tiny face into a new expression while letting out a precious yawn. With a watery chuckle, Jaime began to see the makings of a lion cub in him as he fell back asleep.  _He must be dreaming…_

From the corner of his eye, Jaime felt Brienne’s eyes start to fix on him. Realizing that he would not be rid of the maester anytime soon, Jaime clenched his teeth and relented; he acknowledged the old maester with a sharp voice and a frustrated sigh. “ _What_ _is it?”_

“It's time for the wet nurse to see the child.”

Jaime started to blink with a slow comprehension. Baffled, he looked up to glare at the maester with a puzzled look.  “Nonsense. Lady Brienne feeds the children.” Slowly tugging the bed sheets higher over her bare chest, Brienne tried not to shift her weight in the bed. She had let out a soft hiss of pain. “Jaime, please; _be nice._ ”

The new maester had felt uncomfortable being there; nervous, he lowered his eyes and squarely fixed them on the baby. He’d felt awkward standing in their room; he knew he was intruding on a private moment. Wishing he could part from the bedroom, the timid maester grew flush while averting his eyes from the Lord and Lady of Tarth.

“Quite right my lord. _Please,_ forgive me.” The maester winced. “But given your wife’s fragile condition, it would be wise to have the wet nurse see to the child. Only temporary.” Memories of their son’s birth started to pummel Jaime’s mind: he remembered feeling helpless and terrified as he held onto his wife’s hand; he remembered kissing her temple, always telling her how much he loved her. Jaime tucked the sleeping child closer to his chest.

Jaime looked down at their son and began to wonder. _Do you know how loved you are?_ He tucked the blanket closer to his son’s face. _Do you understand how precious you are to me?_ Jaime’s loving hand grew still. A soft whisper began to tease his ear. “It’s alright Jaime; he’ll be safe.”  

Brienne’s oath was thin and breathy. After a moment of silence, his wife’s promise started to take root inside his nervous heart. Feeling a shiver of hope, Jaime raised his green eyes up and finally made a connection with the maester. “You promise to bring him back?” The maester nodded his head with a warm, assuring smile. “I swear, my lord.”

His arms felt like they turned to lead; he didn’t want to raise the sleeping child off his chest. Once more, Brienne made her promise, this time asking him to let go while her hand tried to reach out and stroke his forearm. Offering her one more look at their son, Brienne’s soft voice began to warble and sniff. She cooed and whispered with a mother’s love as she stroked and marveled at the incredible softness of his round cheeks.

Before Jaime could let him go, he smoothed a giant thumb over the child’s head and gave him a parting kiss. Tender hands, weathered and wrinkled, lifted the babe out of Jaime’s arms with an odd little smile. The maester of Evenfall had only been in Tarth for a few months; to Jaime, he always seemed to be a bit odd—rather shy—sort of man. Thankful to leave, the maester tried to cross the room with the sleeping babe in tow, but Jaime’s voice halted him with a soft request.    

“Oh, can you bring us another blanket? Lady Brienne said she’s feeling a tad cold.” Brienne’s voice mumbled with a sleep-drunk slur as she tried to dismiss her husband's request. Every word was a soft, winded struggle. “Jaime, I’m quite fine I promise…” The maester nodded his head with grace; he was eager to part from their room and hand the child off to the wet-nurse. “At once, my lord.”

A humble servant opened the bedroom door and tried not to make a sound.

Lord Tyrion of Casterly Rock was patiently waiting outside in the solar with six children, two nieces, and four nephews. They were well-behaved children, patiently waiting to see their mother, father and the new baby. Six pairs of green eyes watched the maester as he carefully handed the baby off to the wet nurse. All the children gathered around the wet nurse to sneak a look at the babe. Not wanting to make a sound, six little children quietly followed the wet nurse down the hall so they could all get a better look at their new brother. Tyrion watched them all walk away as the hum of a Dornish lullaby faded into the stone halls of Evenfall.   

“He’s requested another blanket for Lady Brienne.” Tyrion stood from his chair with a deep sigh; he had been sitting in that chair for a long time—ever since his good-sister had gone into labor. Glancing up at the servant, Tyrion shook his head ‘no’ at her as he motioned her to give him the blanket she held. Lifting up empty hands, Tyrion offered the servant a halfhearted smile. With a nod of permission by the maester, the servant handed the blanket off to Tyrion before she parted from the solar.

Making his way towards the bedroom door, Tyrion let out a bracing sigh before he turned the knob. Mismatched eyes landed on the maester with a soft smile before he walked in. Tyrion slowly approached Jaime and his good-sister with quiet steps. “Jaime?” Jaime lifted up his head and smiled. “ _Tyrion_. Did you see? Did you see his eyes—how blue they were?”

Tyrion approached the bed with a gentle step forward. “Yes, Jaime. He is _beautiful_.” Offering up the blanket in his arms, Jaime nudged at Brienne’s hand; he looked at her face to grab her attention. Once he saw her eyes, Jaime pointed down towards the fresh blanket Tyrion was holding.  

_“Thank you, Tyrion.”_

“Yes, thank you Tyrion.”

Stunted arms fought under the weight of the thick blanket. Jaime managed to help, but not by much; he didn’t want to move his back away from the headboard. Tyrion watched Jaime throw the blanket over Brienne’s legs. “Jaime—perhaps we should allow Lady Brienne to get some sleep now.” Jaime paused and sat still on the bed. He was confused. “Tyrion… I’m not going to leave my wife. _She just gave birth.”_ Brienne caught Jaime’s gaze and offered him an assuring smile. “It’s alright Jaime. I’m fine. I promise.” Baffled, Jaime turned to his wife and wrapped his arm tight around her shoulders.

Tyrion watched Brienne’s head slide across the headboard and collapse into the crook of her husband's neck with a slow, graceless thud. Compelled by his nature, he forced himself to look up and see what the maester had already warned him.

Brienne’s skin was pale and gaunt with a faint tinge of blue. Her face, hideous in life, looked oddly serene in death. The skin on her face was smooth and lifeless with the unnerving luster of freshly poured candle wax. She was slouched over with her back propped against the headboard; her bluish face was buried deep into Jaime's neck at an unnatural angle with her mouth hanging wide open. She’d looked more like a wet sack of flour dumped into a bed rather than a wife and mother who’d just given birth.

The worst of it though was her eyes.  

Brienne's gaze was at half-mast. Hours had passed since she died on the birthing bed; she never got the chance to meet her new son. Her blue eyes—once bright and striking—were now clouded and pale with the frost of death streaked within. Tyrion felt a shiver crawl over his skin once he realized that Brienne's eyes had already sunken into her head. A curdle of froth began to seep in one corner of her mouth and started to ooze down her slack jaw.

Since the great war had ended, Tyrion had seen plenty of people fall into the dark arms of madness. He saw many people turn lunatic with anger or violence; others, he watched them quietly melt into the gray shadows of their former selves. Tyrion watched Jaime hold a conversation with Brienne's corpse with a slow dawn of panic. His brother kept angling his head down to make eyes at Brienne. He was trying to convince his wife that all would be well now that she had another blanket. Smoothing his lone hand up and down his wife's arm, Jaime paused as he looked at her face with a brief flash of sanity. _Why is she so cold?_

A dull laugh slowly filled the bedroom.

Shadows from the bed started to dance on the wall; Tyrion watched Jaime’s eyes search for some recognition in the corpse's face. He grinned with a haunting chuckle as he kissed her hair and whispered nonsense in her cold ears.

Tyrion watched the scene unfold in profound silence. He was disturbed. His could feel his heart started to break as Jaime nuzzled Brienne’s hair with a breathy string of unintelligible comments. He stood there as his brother carried on a conversation that made sense only in his shattered mind. For some reason, his brother kept repeating the word _thelis_ while kissing his wife's forehead with a distant gaze. After a long moment of silence, Jaime mumbled something absurd into Brienne’s ear; he finally spoke up. “ _No._ _No…_ I think I’m going to stay.”

Tyrion’s chest started to ache for his brother. Feeling helpless, he looked up at Jaime with wounded eyes and slumped shoulders; he gradually responded with a devastated voice. “ _As you wish.”_  

Before he left, Tyrion paused and looked down at the stone floor while Jaime muttered and blathered to no one but his wife; he lingered next to the bed with a fading hope. Jaime no longer seemed to notice that Tyrion was there; he was busy having a playful discussion with Brienne’s corpse. Tyrion gasped as he watched Jaime try to manipulate Brienne’s arm, forcing her curled fingers to stroke his tear stained cheek.

Haunted, Tyrion averted his eyes and awkwardly fussing with the bedding to avoid eye contact with his brother. He reached over to smooth out the blankets on the bed. Curious, he started to pull back the sheets, one by one, as if he were stripping back the petals on a wilted rose. He counted eight blankets, all of them piled over Brienne’s legs. When he drew back the final cover, Tyrion gasped in horror. From the waist down, the mattress was drenched in a dark tidal of blood.

Smoothing the blankets back down, he stepped out of the room with thick tears in his eyes. Intrusive thoughts assailed him. With a bitter smile, Tyrion realized that he no longer had to imagine what his father’s grief looked like on the day he was born. With the bedroom door firmly shut, Tyrion leaned against the oaken frame and tried to choke back on his tears and his rage. Grinding his teeth, trying hard not cry, he made only a vain effort as he wiped off his cheeks.

“My lord?”

Tyrion’s anguish turned to fright once he and the maester heard a dull laughter fill the bedroom. “I’m afraid you’re right, Maester. Jaime’s not going to leave his wife’s bed. _Not yet.”_ The maester was grim; he tucked his hands behind his back and proceeded to speak with delicate caution.  “Shall we proceed with the funeral rites for the child then?” A hard lump filled Tyrion’s mouth as he struggled for words. “If we wait any longer, I’m afraid we’ll have to bury the child separate from the mother.”

Tyrion waved a dismissive hand over the maester’s warning; his face looked stricken. He couldn’t imagine forcing his brother to attend two separate funerals. He knew it was best to have the son buried with his mother. “Give it a few more hours, please? _Perhaps_ … maybe we can try to talk some sense into him later.” The maester was somber with obedience. From the other side of the door, both could hear Jaime’s laughter as it began to erode into an absurd, almost hollow chuckle.

All throughout the night—and for many nights to come—the drafty halls of Evenfall shivered with a dark sound: it was the chilling hum of lullabies followed by a broken laugh; it was the laugh of Jaime, the Mad Lord of Tarth.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This nightmare is inspired in part by the tragic love story of  
> King Pedro I of Portugal (1320-1367) and his queen, Inés de Castro. 
> 
> If you got some free time, check it out online. Especially the paintings.  
> Suuuper creepy...


End file.
